Born into the notions that defined your family for years,

You keep a diary, the only one with whom you share your doubts,

For you dare not raise your hand to say,

How, so according, the line

Between love and hate seems so fine, 

For it is what would result of that, which you fear

 

You search all books for the answers for your heart,

But each answer poses another question in its place,

The picture are all mostly covered with a cloth,

To ask 'How?', 'When?' Or 'why?',

To be answered only with a sigh,

And the wagging finger that wags your spirit apart

 

The lumionous gateway appears way ahead,

You walk to face what awaits you on the way,

Shadowed statues of brains pass slowly by,

At the end, the faces of they that know,

They all seem to be you, so you go,

Leading yourself, and by yourself, you are led